


A Land of Myth a Time of Magic A Game of Thrones

by myheartismadeofstars



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Bisexual Male Character, Bonding, Changing POVs, Crack Relationships, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fix-It, Foreshadowing, Gay Male Character, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Magic, Multi, One-Sided Attraction, Other, POV Alternating, POV Third Person, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Shapeshifting, Some Abusive Relationships, eventual poly relationships, reuniting the starks, series typical drama, wolf!Starks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myheartismadeofstars/pseuds/myheartismadeofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lot is about to change in Westeros, because Magic is rising, Summer is ending and Winter is Coming. (A retelling of the series of ASOIAF with the addition of characters from Merlin to help with both their own journeys and other peoples')</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bran I

**Author's Note:**

> Seeing as this is a Merlin/Game of Thrones (technically ASoIaF as I MOSTLY use book info) crossover AU (with the Former living in Westeros naturally) I might as well go all the way and include my Shapeshifter headcanons (Starks are Wolves). The characters of Merlin have always lived in this universe and some of their stories have been changed to fit.

Bran saw his favourite knight (and one of the few at Winterfell) and ran up to him. “Percival!” he called. Ser Percival had lived in Winterfell since before Bran was born, though apparently Jon and Robb both remembered his arrival, they told stories of a quiet and gentle boy from White Harbor seeking employment, and somehow along the way Percival became a knight and a member of the family.

Percival stopped, switching the armload of practise weapons to one arm so he could see Bran better. He smiled his kind smile. “Do you need something, Bran?” He asked.

Bran noted the weapons. “Are you going to train with Robb and Jon?” The boy asked, slightly disappointed. He had been hoping Percival would come with him to the Woods. Percival, observant as he was, saw Bran’s unhappiness.

“You want to watch?” He offered politely. Bran shook his head. He wanted Percival to help him hunt…

“If you change your mind, come find us.” He told him before heading on his way to the Yard.

Bran would just have to go alone. Bran slipped from his skin and felt his form blur to that of a young wolf. Large and with fur auburn as his hair, he didn’t look much like the wolves normally found in the Wolfswood, but he was still a wolf. Bran took off excitedly as he ran off to the west of the Castle, past servants and smallfolk alike.

The forest was dense and full of smells, smells that were different every time he and his family came. Bran rolled in a clump of grass, happy for the freedom of this form.

Bran got up, hearing the sounds of small game. He could use the hunting practice. Bran spent a good hour hunting squirrels and rabbits, never catching anything, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to be able to. Bran was letting them get away. Eddard Stark wanted his children to be equally capable of surviving as a wolf as as a human. On more than one occasion he had told the story of how his elder brother and Aunt Lyanna had both desired to ‘choose the wolf’ and live in the wild, but both had been denied due to their father’s plans for them. Bran’s father had admitted that he suspected that that had contributed to their deaths, even if in a small way. It was certainly to blame for their wild hearts. 

Bran was stalking another rabbit when he heard the branch snap. Bran quickly returned to his human form (it was dangerous for everyone to know) and turned, only to find himself face to face with a strange boy’s (about Bran’s age, maybe a little older) bow and arrow. A determined look in his strange blue-green eyes.


	2. Jon I

Jon stood to the side as he watched Robb and Percival spar. Percival was strong enough to take them both on at once if he wanted to, but he prefered to work one on one. Jon watched Percival’s movements lunging for Robb, dodging his attacks. Percival was almost six and a half feet tall and seemingly made entirely of muscle, but he wasn’t hindered by it, he was surprisingly agile. 

Near the side of the yard, Jon could see his half-sister Sansa and her little friend Jeyne Poole watching the training. They must have both finished their lessons with Septa Mordane, Jon thought. Jeyne, Jon knew, was watching Robb (her feelings for him were well known) but Sansa? She could be there to watch her brother, Jon supposed, but it was more likely she was watching Percival.

And why not? Ser Percival was an attractive knight by all accounts. tall and broad shouldered (which Arya liked to ride on, even at nine years old) with a strong jaw, light brown hair shaved down almost to the scalp and kind blue eyes. He was forever courteous, and friendly, equally likely to talk with Sansa over tea and lemoncakes as train with Jon, or go adventuring with Bran, or play tricks with Arya. Percival was seven years older than Jon, a man at twenty one years, but he never failed to spend as much time as he could with the children, even three year old Rickon had his playtime with Percival. Some day, Percival would make an excellent husband and father…

Jon felt a twinge of jealousy. 

A voice brought Jon back to the present to find Robb and Percival before him, Percival had his practice sword over his shoulder, and Robb had a mischievous smile on his face. “Distracted by the pretty girl, Jon?” Robb teased.

Jon, like most of the Starks (other than Sansa) didn’t blush easily, but he was visibly embarrassed. “Is it my turn now?” Jon asked, holding out his hand for Robb’s practice sword. Robb wasn’t about to let this go. “Jon, I didn’t think you were interested in the little Poole girl.” He teased. 

“Theon is rubbing off on you.” Jon commented. 

“No need to be bitter.” Robb retorted, he handed over the sword to his brother. Jon was grateful he had given up. Jon had nothing against Jeyne, but she was his father’s steward’s daughter and his sister’s best friend. She wasn’t really his type.

Jon switched places with his brother so that it was him against Percival. Percival counted to three before they began their sparring match. Every time their swords kissed, sparks flew from the blunted blades. There was a lot of power behind Percival’s blows, fitting for a man of his strength, but it took Jon’s breath away to imagine taking the full brunt of his strength. It didn’t take long before his heart was pounding with excitement. Jon danced around Percival to avoid another blow. The knight spun to attack again and narrowly missed Jon’s head.

“Be careful!” Jon gasped, in shock. “Be faster.” Percival advised, a playful smirk on his face. Percival’s words made Jon narrow his eyes. He put more effort into his feet, rather than his hands. Sure enough, Jon had less close calls. Though, it was embarrassing making such a childish mistake. When they paused for a breath Percival put a gentle hand on Jon’s shoulder. “It’s easy to forget we might need these skills for our survival one day, isn’t it?” Percival was a skilled fighter, but he didn’t like to use those skills. 

“Yes, you’re right.” Jon said, accepting the excuse. He knew that a mistake like that in battle could get him killed, but Percival was going easy as always.

Jon picked up his sword to fight again. “You won’t get so many hits this time.” He vowed. Percival rubbed his bare shoulder. What does this man have against sleeves? Jon wondered absently. “I think we should take a break.” Percival told him, before ruffling his hair and going off to put away their dented practice armour. Jon hated that, though he had liked it as a boy. “Come on, why don’t we see if we can’t convince the cooks to give us something.” Jon smiled. “I don’t see why not.” Jon said as he started gathering up the weapons to put away. Sometimes Jon thought of himself as Percival’s squire, though Bran seemed to have monopoly on that at times.

Robb walked over to help Jon. “Nice footwork.” He complemented. Jon looked at him curiously. Robb was better than Jon at swordplay, and riding, and hunting…and girls. It made him jealous, but proud too. “What?” Robb asked, noticing his brother staring at him. 

“Nothing.” Jon said. “You’re not bad yourself.” He added. No matter what Robb did, Jon couldn’t stay mad at him.

Once the three had finished up they went into the castle, in search of an early lunch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a lot longer than the first chapter, but Bran is harder to write because he's a kid.


	3. Merlin I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's get away from the North for a bit!

Merlin stared at the letter in his hand again, trying to make out the strange words on the paper. Another test, he knew. Merlin’s mother’s uncle was a Maester of the Citadel, and often spent time trying to teach him everything from reading and writing, to different languages, to Astronomy and medicine…even those things the Maesters called ‘the higher mysteries’. Though they weren’t much mystery to Merlin. Once, Merlin had wanted to follow in his Uncle’s footsteps as a maester, but he had been forbidden from doing so.

Merlin could make out enough words in the letter to understand it was Qohorik but the language was an odd one, and difficult. Merlin could see no reason for him to learn so many languages, he was in service to House Tyrell, and especially Lady Margaery, he was not a trader who would make rounds to Qohor, nor a Lord who needed to speak to dignitaries.

From the words he could make out, it looked as though the letter was a translated section from a book, talking about the Battle of Qohor. The word Unsullied was repeated several times.

While Merlin pondered the letter he heard a knock on the door to his little room. Leaving the letter on his desk, the boy got up to answer the door. It was another servant. “What is it?” Merlin asked.

“Lady Margaery wants ta see thee…” The girl told him. She didn’t seem to happy…Once again her lowborn speech reminded him of his fairly high education. “She’s waitin int’ sunroom int’ west win.” She explained.

Merlin nodded and thanked her before going off to find the lady Margaery. Merlin wasn’t surprised Margaery’s other servants didn’t like him, what with her blatant favouritism towards him.

He soon found Lady Margaery exactly where the maid had said she would be, in the sunroom sitting by an open window. Margaery looked so beautiful…

“Is there something you wanted, my lady?” Merlin asked. Margaery looked at him and smiled brightly. “Merlin!” She said, gesturing for him to approach. When Merlin came closer he could feel the cool breeze coming in from the window. “Isn’t it a beautiful day, Merlin?” She asked conversationally. Merlin nodded. “It was beautiful when I went out this morning. The cool breeze could mean that Summer is going to end soon, however.” He added. 

Margaery sighed in her false innocent way. Merlin held no illusions about how manipulative his Lady could be, he cared about her regardless. He had long since learned to recognise Margaery’s subtle manipulations, or in this case seductions.”Was there something you needed of me, my lady?” Merlin pried.

Margaery sighed again, this time at his anxiousness. Merlin knew she wanted to have him by her side, but he couldn’t allow it, for her reputation’s sake.

“Yes.” She said as she stood and linked arms with Merlin. “I have a craving.” She said with a playful smile. “Do you remember that little bakery? The one we passed the other day?” She asked.

“Yes my lady.” Merlin confirmed. Margaery unlinked their arms and produced a little bag and handed it to her servant. “I would like you to purchase some of those lovely berry tarts. You know the ones, sweet as the Maiden herself? Our baker doesn’t make them the same way, I like those better.” Merlin nodded as he accepted the money, opening the pouch he found a fistful of silver stags. “My lady, I think you’ve made a mistake. I believe you’ve given me too much.” Merlin spoke up, unafraid of retribution as Margaery was indulgent of servants, and especially of him.

“Have I?” She asked, her blue eyes (an inherited gift of her Hightower mother) sparkling in a way that told him it was no mistake. “Well then, I suppose you may buy a tray of tarts, and spend any remaining Stags on whatever you like.” She told him. Merlin’s ears felt warm the way she was looking at him.

He bowed respectfully before he turned to leave. He didn’t miss Margaery’s smile as he did so. Merlin knew his face must be red. His skin was inhumanly pale, especially for one of the smallfolk who grew up on a farm, and nothing would darken it. Not even spending hours out in the gardens would do. Due to his pale skin, he blushed redder than most.

Merlin thought about his relationship with Margaery the entire walk to the bakery. the two of them had been attracted to one another for most of the two years they had known one another, with it happening at first sight for Merlin. She was beautiful, yes, and cunning, but she was also genuinely kind and generous, she almost never had malicious intent. 

Merlin bought the tray of tarts from the baker, and a sticky bun for himself (which didn’t last long), for four stags (Merlin gave him a bit extra) and then he still had stags left over…Margaery had told him to buy whatever he wanted with the leftover money but Merlin really couldn’t think of what to spend it on, so he handed over the money to a small group of children. “A gift from Lady Margaery Tyrell.” He explained as they stared at the silver coins. They didn’t look particularly poor, they probably lived nearby, but they probably had never had money of their own, to spend as the so wished. Especially not from the ‘Lady who lived in the white castle’. There were five excited voices crying “Thank yeur!” each taking some stags for themselves, before running off to either spend it or show their mothers.

Merlin knew they had good reason to be so excited. He had grown up on a farm,off of the Roseroad, and while the Roseroad was good for travel and trade…it wasn’t always prosperous, even with how fertile the Reach was, and they didn’t have a lot of money…so getting money for no reason was a big deal.

On his way back to the castle, Merlin thought about Margaery as he walked and , and his mother, and he came to a conclusion he had been trying to avoid for months. 

Margaery was waiting for Merlin to return with her tarts in the same room as she was in before, though it seemed as though someone had brought her an embroidery wheel to work on. When she saw Merlin, she set it aside to take the tray for herself. “Thank you Merlin, I’d been looking forward to these!” She told him before taking a bite of the pastry, humming in delight.

“Margaery?” Merlin said, dropping the formalities. “I wish to leave Highgarden.” He told her, feeling his own heart breaking at the thought of leaving her behind.

“I beg your pardon?” Margaery said, clearly confused. She set the tray aside and looked up at Merlin, her blue eyes looking lost, an innocent look they rarely held.

Merlin made a bold move. He put his hand on the side of Margaery’s face. “I can’t stay here any longer.” He explained. “The other servants detest me, and I’m not certain my staying here would be good for your….reputation.” Merlin had been about to say ‘marriageability’ but he couldn’t make himself think of her getting married. Yes, she was nearly sixteen, but it hurt him to think of it, let alone say it.

“Merlin, please. You’re my friend.” She told him gently.

“And I love you.” Merlin pointed out. “But I want to leave. You are a highborn lady…I’m a farmer’s son. You have dreams of being Queen, don’t pretend you don’t.” Margaery couldn’t lie. She spoke quite openly about her desire to rule, or at least be married to the one who ruled. “I intend to go elsewhere, maybe to King’s Landing. I can find my way.” He assured her. He was making plans to stop and see his mother as he traveled the roseroad. 

“Nothing I can say will make you change your mind…will it?” Margaery asked, clearly saddened that a friend and a loved one was intending to leave. Merlin shook his head slowly.“I will see you in King’s Landing then.” She told him. “When I become the Queen.” 

Merlin smiled and gently pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. It was the only time he had ever taken the liberty to kiss her.

“I will tell my father you have taken your leave.” Margaery told him as he pulled away. “Thank you, Merlin.” She told him.

Merlin bowed respectfully and turned to leave, so he could collect his things.


	4. Bran II

Bran felt his heart pounding in his chest as he stared down the archer. Sure he was young, but it was possible he was going to kill him.

“What were you doing?” The archer demanded. Bran swallowed the fear in his throat. “I was just hunting!” He promised. “I’m not even a good hunter without my father here!” The boy lowered his bow. “Who are you?” He asked.

Bran sighed in relief and relaxed significantly. “My name is Bran. Bran Stark, second trueborn son of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell.” 

The boy shrugged. “Bran’s enough.” He put the arrow back into the quiver on his back, which Bran now recognised was empty. He had only brought one arrow.

“What about you?” Bran asked the strange boy. It was more than just his eyes. Everything about the boy was slightly off. The way he had sneaked up in near perfect silence, Bran hadn’t noticed his presence until he stepped on the branch. His nearly white skin and his black hair…it was almost eerie. “What is your name?”

“My name is Mordred.” He said with a little smile that made him look more human. Bran wondered if it was just how stern his face had been that made him look like a ghost or something. A ghost that lived in the wolfwood…

“Hey! Are you a child of the forest?” Bran asked excitedly, remembering the tales Old Nan had told him. Mordred looked confused. “I…don’t think so.” He said as he slung his bow over his shoulder. “I’m a child who lives in the forest, but I wouldn’t say I am of the forest.”

Somehow, that wasn’t so exciting. “You live here?” He asked. Bran hadn’t known anyone actually lived in the forest. A few Houses lived near the Wolfwood, but not in it. At least, none he could think of. At the very least not in the forest proper, but in clearings and such.

“Yes.” Mordred said simply. “Me and my band.”

“Band?” Bran repeated. Mordred narrowed his eyes as he seemed to try and find the words to describe what he needed. “They’re…like a family…but there are different families in the band..we travel around together as a group. Hunting, fishing, gathering herbs, firewood and other supplies…we do it for each other.” He explained. “We take care of each other. Iseldir, our Band’s leader took me in after my father died.”

Bran felt sad when he heard Mordred’s father had died, but at least he had someone. “What about your mother?” He asked. 

Mordred shrugged and leaned on a tree. “I don’t know. She abandoned me.” He didn’t seem bothered by this fact, which made Bran wonder…how common was it for these people to abandon their children? Probably not very…he rationalized.

“Can I meet them?” Bran asked, deciding he wanted to meet these strange people.

Mordred smiled his ‘human making’ smile again. “I’m sure they won’t mind!” He stood up straight. “I want you to meet Iseldir anyway!” He gestured for Bran to follow him, which he did. Running after the older boy’s heels. After a while of running in seemingly nonsensical directions, they came upon a small area with tents erected made of either hide or fabric (sometimes patched with both) and people bustling around…silently. Bran noticed they all wore a similar cloak to the blue-green one Mordred was wearing, solid coloured hooded cloaks in bright colours, reds and greens and blues, a few yellows and oranges too.

“Why is no one saying anything?” Bran asked Mordred quietly as they walked into the camp. “We mostly communicate through different means.” He explained, tapping the temple of his head. That made Bran even more confused.

A man in a yellow-green cloak came up to Mordred, who acted as though the man had said something. “Iseldir, this is Bran.” He said, apparently continuing a sentence. “Bran, this is the man who cares for me.”

“You were right on one account, Mordred.” The man said in a calm tone. “He does seem to have a great deal of potential. He’s very strong. However, not Emrys.”

Bran looked confused and Iseldir turned to him to explain. “We are called the Druids. We are nomads that follow the Old Gods. We communicate through our thoughts. Mordred suspected you may be the incarnation of one of our legends. A man who is the Life of the Land, and is the embodiment of all the magic here.”

Bran felt embarrassed, Mordred thought he was someone that important? “Why did you attack me then?” Bran asked his friend. “It wasn’t until I got closer that I realized how warm you were, how bright. That’s how we can tell how strong a person’s affinity for Magic is.” Iseldir nodded in agreement with Mordred. “Yes. Sometimes it manifests physically, marking the most powerful with pale skin, black hair and blue eyes, but it isn’t a rule. You must be hungry.” The man gestured to the fireside where children and adults were eating cooked birds of some kind.

Mordred sat between two girls and took a skewered bird. After a moment, Bran chose to sit by him and take his own. It tasted different from the fowl he was used to eating, but it was good. “Mordred? Iseldir said something about magic?” Bran had been told stories about magic, but they all said magic was a thing of long ago, no longer existing. 

Mordred swallowed. “That’s right. We’re born with it. Some can move things by thinking about it when they are just babes, others are children that can make flowers grow on a whim. We all have a type of magic that comes naturally to us. The others we learn over time.” He explained. “We also have been known to adopt unwanted babies, sickly little babes left outside to die, they have to learn magic from the beginning, but they grow up surrounded in it.”

Bran listened in awe. They rescued unwanted children? And born Druid children could move objects? He was fascinated by the concept of it. The only thing he could do was turn into a wolf…but that wasn’t magic. It was just something he and his family could do. Nothing special. Bran chewed the meat in his mouth thoughtfully

“Can anyone learn? Not just those raised with it, but anyone?” Bran asked. Before Mordred could answer, Bran noticed that the sky was turning pink. “Mordred, I needs be returning home!” He exclaimed. “Promise we shall see each other again?” 

Mordred nodded. “I swear.” Bran, stood and hurried to the edge of the camp where he transformed and quickly made his way back to Winterfell. He would never forget Mordred’s smell, so he could find the camp on his own next time.


	5. Chapter 5

Percival walked across the courtyard when he saw Lady Catelyn Stark approaching him. He smiled at her fondly. Lady Stark had been as a second mother to him, or perhaps an older sister, ever since he had arrived from White Harbor. Odd, considering his parents actually were older than Lady Catelyn’s own, but had had him very late in life, so there was only a twelve year difference between them.

He saw her smile back at him as she got closer. “Ser Percival.” She said. “Have you seen Arya anywhere? I simply cannot find her.”

Percival thought for a moment. “No, my lady. I haven’t seen her for more than an hour. However, if I see her, I shall tell her you’re looking for her.” He assured her.

The red haired lady sighed. “No need. I would like to see my daughter again at some point…” Percival could see Catelyn was upset by this, and it made his heart ache a bit. He reached out and touched her elbow comfortingly. “Never fear, I’m certain she will turn up before Lord Eddard and the boys return.” Lord Stark had taken his sons to watch a man be beheaded. A thing Percival had been offered to join them on, but opting to stay behind, to care for the girls, he had told Lord Stark, but everyone knew the truth. Percival as a gentle soul, and couldn’t abide by violence. He knew it had to be done, but he would not watch another execution.

“Yes. I’m certain you’re right, Percival.” She said, putting on a smile. “I will continue my search.” She placed a hand on his cheek and kissed the opposite lightly. Percival watched her leave until she went around a corner.

“The coast is clear.” He said, before feeling Arya slip her arms off of Percival’s shoulders and slide to the ground. She ducked out from under his cloak. “Lady Catelyn seems upset…” Percival mused. 

Arya shrugged. “She only wants me because I put a frog in Sansa’s bed this morning. I don’t know why she’d be upset.” 

Possibly because her daughter is a flight risk? Percival thought. He didn’t voice his thoughts though. 

“Your lady mother loves you Arya, she tries to keep you safe…” Arya scoffed. “Sure she loves me…but I’m her least favourite. Everyone knows that. Bran’s her favourite, then Robb then Sansa, and Rickon…” Arya’s voice got quieter as she went through the list. 

Catelyn did favour Bran, that much was true, Percival remembered how he had been such a tiny babe. Catelyn had birthed him earlier than expected, and he was a bit sickly. He got better and grew strong and healthy, and it was the relief of his survival that had caused it. Robb had been her first babe, Sansa was Lady Catelyn’s perfect daughter. Fit to be a princess at birth. Rickon was Catelyn’s youngest, who still needed her for everything…Arya had been loud and fiercely independent from at least the time Percival had arrived. He recalled Arya screaming inconsolable until Jon would be brought to her, and only then would she quiet. It came as no surprise that Arya favouring Jon would lead to some slight resentment from her mother. 

Percival ruffled Arya’s hair, making her laugh. “Come, let’s not talk about things that upset you. Why don’t we play a game instead?”

An hour or so of familiar childhood games ensued. Come-into-my-castle and Arya’s favourite, a simple game of wrestling with the young she-wolf. Percival had just let Arya up for another round, when the wolf sat straight up and seemed to listen for something. “Arya?” Percival asked, noticing her odd behaviour. 

She swiftly switched back to being a human. “Horses!” She cried, scrambling to her feet to run to meet the horses. Percival followed close behind her. He was anxious to see Jon again, though he had not been gone all day. The two of them had a…special connection.

Arya was right. Lord Stark and his men were returning. Percival greeted them happily, asking how their ride was (and specifically asking little about the reason for their journey).

“Look what we found in the snow!” Bran said, holding up a newborn wolf pup. Percival took the pup in his arms, smiling gently. The pup had grey brown fur and closed eyes. Percival lightly touched the pup’s fine fur with his rough hands and allowed Bran to get off the pony. “He’s perfect, Bran.” He told him quietly. Bran looked proud.

“We all got one!” Jon said, practically leaping off of his horse. “Look!” Jon’s was white, with red eyes. An albino pup.

“One for all the children of Eddard Stark..” Percival mused with a smile as he returned Bran’s pup.

“Even me.” Jon agreed, proud to be included for once.


End file.
